


Sociopath Does Not Rhyme With Love

by caliginousAfterlife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuties, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliginousAfterlife/pseuds/caliginousAfterlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is falling in love with Dr. John Watson and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to do with himself. They hold hands like they're holding on to a lifeline. Sherlock isn't really sure what he should do with his fingers, but John seems to know a thing or two about the art of it all.</p><p>A Collection of drabbles containing losses and first loves in the lives of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sociopath Does Not Rhyme With Love

**Author's Note:**

> The exact moment in which Sherlock realizes that John Watson is the most important person in his life.

Sherlock Holmes was positive he had gone over every possible outcome of meeting with Moriarty in private. His brain worked like clockwork, mapping out every exit and entrance to the pool with deadly accuracy; every potential hiding place and attack strategy thought over in advance; mind smoothing over every fault in what he thought to be another flawless plan, but when Dr. John Watson emerged from the door closest to him with explosives strapped to his chest, Sherlock’s statistics, and confidence, and heart crumpled like nothing he’d ever experienced before. And as he tried desperately to cling to these fading fragments of once brilliant thoughts, he could not tear his eyes away from John, and he could not fend off the anxiety that was crawling up his limbs like deadly serpents.  
John spoke. He spoke words that did not belong to him, and the only indication of his fear was the slight waver in his voice when his own name left his lips and told of a demise so confidently that it sounded inevitable. Maybe it was. Then John looked Sherlock directly in eyes and it was as if every essence of his being was screaming, “Sherlock, run.”  
Moriarty emerged from the furthest door, cocky and crazy, bearing with him the bittersweet denotation that differed psychopath from sociopath. His voice was there and it chilled the detective to the bone, and Sherlock had to fight to keep his gun hand from wavering because Jim Moriarty had the upper hand. Not only had he managed to make Sherlock dance like a puppet on strings, but this man had set his vile hands on Sherlock’s only friend.  
Then suddenly John Watson had a strong, trained arm flexed around the murder’s neck with all the bravery and feelings in the world pouring out of his eyes and aimed directly at – the aggressively undeserving – Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock’s heart lurched, as if all the heartstrings he never believed in were tugged all at once by the familiar, rough hands of John Watson, and he had never been more willing to die.  
That was when Sherlock Holmes became profoundly aware that John Watson was indispensable, so desperately, he grasped on to strands and fragments of thoughts and untangled the jumbled mess that had taken refuge in his mind, and things and thoughts and ideas finally came together. In that exact moment, John’s life was on the line, and Sherlock could not bear to see him go.


End file.
